


Kinktober Twenty-Second: Name-Calling

by KabochaKitsune



Series: Kinktober 2019 [22]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Anal Fingering, Canon-Typical Violence, Claiming, Clothed Sex, Compare and Contrast, Continuous orgasm, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Excessive Come, Exhaustion, Innuendo, Insults, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Knifeplay, M/M, Name-Calling, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Riding, Rough Sex, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Swords, Teasing, Title Play, Topping from the Bottom, tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KabochaKitsune/pseuds/KabochaKitsune
Summary: Shanksguffawedacross the distance between them. "Come on, Hawky-boy."Only Mihawk could have made theughin the back of his throat sound dignified."What kind of nickname or insult is that supposed to be, Shanks? You sound like both a barely-weaned whelpanda drunk. How does one person, one pirate captain no less, manage both, I wonder?"Shanks grinned, spreading both arms wide apart, uncaring of his bared (bare) chest and the sloppy angle of his blade held nonchalantly out to one side. "I'm a man of many talents."
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk
Series: Kinktober 2019 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504013
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104
Collections: Kinktober 2019





	Kinktober Twenty-Second: Name-Calling

**Author's Note:**

> I AM NOT DEAD.
> 
> Holiday season hell melted immediately into, well. Gestures at the worldstate.
> 
> If have learned one thing from writing this fic it is, for me at least, to never write drunk. All my dialogue was fine; I had to revise the rest like eight times to not hate it. This has been drafted since March. e_e
> 
> [That Kinktober Generator](https://corsetsandlemons.tumblr.com/post/187862017291/the100kinkmeme-hello-soon-will-be-the-holiest), Day 22: Name-Calling.

"Don't be hideous," Mihawk scoffed. Shanks just _grinned_ back, lying all his weight on the other's chest and baring teeth at him from above their crossed blades.

"You wouldn't actually find me hideous if I sprouted six extra limbs and gills and horns," the redhead snickered, leaning in and lapping his tongue across the other man's closed mouth. Mihawk made a disgusted sound under his breath, shoving his blade against the redhead's and _kicking_ him off and several feet back.

"Arrogant," he chided, finding his feet with an easy kick-up of his weight, flipping onto them and beginning immediately to circle. He kept the other man in his direct sights, directly opposite himself and his steel, while Shanks matched steps despite nearly - nearly - weaving. Shanks snickered, a hissing _shishishi!_ that made Mihawk's lip curl.

"Are you _drunk?_ "

Shanks _guffawed_ across the distance between them. "Come on. Does it matter, Hawky-boy?"

Only Mihawk could have made the _ugh_ in the back of his throat sound dignified.

"What kind of nickname or insult is that supposed to be, Shanks? You sound like both a barely-weaned whelp _and_ a drunk. How does one person, one pirate captain no less, manage both, I wonder?"

Shanks grinned, spreading both arms wide apart, uncaring of his bared (bare) chest and the sloppy angle of his blade held nonchalantly out to one side. "I'm a man of many talents."

"You've been spending too much time with that _clown_." Mihawk dove directly in the wake of his words, potential drunkenness of his opponent be damned. Especially since, as expected, Shanks brought his blade in to block easily, matching Mihawk's speed despite any and all inebriation, bringing them face to face across shuddering blades. "He's starting to rub off on you."

"Ooh~" Shanks shivered, "if only he would."

_Ugh._

Mihawk found himself unable to hold back from making a _face_ at a comment like that.

Shanks laughed in it for the brunet's trouble.

"Awwwwww, c'mon, Squawk," he sing-songed through another hissing _shishishi_. "D'you _reeeaaaaally_ find me all that icky?"

"God. You speak as if you were a child, Shanks." Mihawk shoved his blade forward, meaning to cut Shanks' torso with the back-edge of his own, but the redhead leaped back like the air itself was a trampoline.

"Soooo.... does that make you a pedophile?"

"Impudent wretch!" Mihawk had long trained himself not to swing his blade in anger, not to give in to the blindness of rage. Shanks tested, frequently, that resolve. This time, the momentary crumple of his will served him well, bearing all his weight and all the momentum he could funnel into it upon the younger man, crushing the flat of Shanks' blade against the man's own throat with the pressure of Yoru behind it. The brazen brat's ever present straw hat flew in a gust of blade-wind and cut strings, bounced a roll along its brim for a few feet, then skittered to a halt in the grass.

Shanks tilted his chin up, hazel eyes meeting Mihawk's piercing gold without a single shiver of trepidation. But he let his left hand fall regardless, palm leaving the flat of his own sword, knuckles hitting the dirt.

"Okay. Okay. You got me, fancypants. I'll let go my hilt if you promise not to slice my throat open."

Mihawk said nothing. Did not back down, did not retreat an inch. But, did relinquish the downward press of his blade, holding steady rather than forcing steel to skin. Shanks removed his hand from his sword's hilt as promised; raised that hand, too, level with his head, splayed in grass and dirt. Mihawk seized the nameless blade and tossed it carelessly behind himself, Yoru still leveled at an angle across Shanks' chest and throat. The redhead grinned lopsidedly up at him.

"Okay okay c'mon c'mon. You win." He twisted, wriggling the whole of his spine, including the hips inches of space below Mihawk's. "You get to claim your prize now. As long as I don't lose any blood, or like, not _much_ I guess. I wanna have enough left to get it up."

"You're a flippant, ignorant child," Mihawk hissed, but let his hold on Yoru relax just the same, settling the blade over Shanks' body rather than bearing it down. His other hand yanked at Shanks' sash, baring his fly and the fact that _none_ of his damn shirt buttons were done up, the clothing held tucked by the "belt" alone. Mihawk's nose wrinkled - "How shameless can one brat possibly be?" - but he let the sash drop all the same, ripped at Shanks' fly and yanked his pants low without preamble. "But at least you know your place."

Shanks' shit-eating grin was _legendary_ , and he flashed it now, all carefree attitude and scraggly barely-there stubble. "Hey, no matter who's the big boss, I've always got a place for you, yeah?" A low growl rumbled in Mihawk's throat. "Okay, okay, okay. And I always know where my place is under those hips."

"Shut up do your share of the work, _cabin boy_ ," Mihawk spat, though Shanks hadn't held that title for several years. That fact didn't stop Shanks' back from popping up in an arch as his own hands slid down, gliding carefully under Yoru, to work on Mihawk's pants and take the lube from his coat. To bare the other man as much as Mihawk had already bared him, at least from the waist down: slipping the waistband of the older man's pants low until it reached Mihawk's mid-thigh, rested across Shanks' belly. 

"Anything you say, _Daikengou_."

The breath hitched in between Mihawk's lips, soft, barely a sound. It was the title, Shanks knew, far more than the drift of fingers, slick now as they eased between those firmly-muscled legs, into the cleft of that _firmly_ -muscled ass, that earned that response. 

"Don't tease me." Mihawk's words were a rare whisper, and Shanks found those eyes blown-out and blurred, pupils wide and dark, boring into his. He felt sure his were the same.

"Never," he whispered. "Not with that."

The title was so fresh, a year tops... Shanks held no surprise that it made the brunet react like this. As he slithered fingers up to their goal, rubbing and pressing softly to _ease_ the other man open rather than simply parting him, he found himself in awe of his ability to do so. That he was _allowed_ to do so. "You're the best there is," he purred, and he felt more than saw the shiver through Mihawk's frame. Shit. No matter how many times they sparred... and no matter that now the other man went harder at it, won every match and gained further distance, title gone from a goal to a thing to defend and more and more becoming his way of life, his _truth_... no matter how many times, Shanks knew he'd feel this same way each and every one. That he was outmatched, that Mihawk could carve him apart if he wanted, and that he was the luckiest man on the sea to be allowed to _penetrate_ the other instead.

The brunet's expression remained unchanged, impassive except for the soft part of lips to allow for the faster movement of breath, as Shanks' fingers eased their way inside, began to move, began to earn a series of soft, barely-voiced gasps no other man would ever dare hope to hear.

"Tell me again."

It wasn't a request, yet wasn't an order. It was simple imperative, spoken with surety that the result would simply be. If, then. So, hence.

"It's you," Shanks breathed, moving a little faster, heart thrumming in his chest as Mihawk began to shift to meet his motions. "The Greatest Swordsman in the World. It's you. You did that. You're him."

Black lashes fluttered, but Mihawk's gaze remained fixed, gold eyes open, boring into Shanks'. The redhead cursed under his breath.

"Fuck. You'd be the world's greatest _anything_. Look at you. You can just reach out and take it."

 _God_ , that warm passage _squeezed_ around his fingers, and that was the only outward indication (...inward indication??) that Mihawk reacted at all.

It came to Shanks belatedly, the accidental double-entendre of _take it_. He couldn't help that he broke right back out into shit-eating grin to realize it. Was _that_ what did it? Ha! World's greatest at innuendo, maybe...

"World's greatest at this, too," he teased, sliding fingers away to the tune of a growl. But he wiped his fingers on the underside of his cock, then the hem of his own shirt, before moving to grip bare hips uncommonly gently, to guide the man with a blade to his chest and throat (and a little more firmly so now, at that) to ease forward into his lap.

"Come on," he coaxed. Mihawk's teeth were grit, nearly invisibly except that Shanks _knew_. The rest of his visage was _fixed_ in rigidity, calm and temperate, as Shanks angled both their hips so that the slick pliancy of Mihawk's entrance could ease open around the younger man's head, onto his slim, firm cock. Shanks didn't rock up, impelling Mihawk to move on his own, to take Shanks' cock in at Mihawk's own steady pace, to _press_ until the brunet's backside settled into the redhead's lap. Mihawk's breath barely changed tempo. Shanks' shuddered while he ran thumbs up and down the bones of Mihawk's hips. His chin tipped up again, baring his throat to blade. 

"Reach out and take it."

The brunet groaned low, so deep it might as well have been a growl, rocking down lower, _harder_ , absolutely hilting Shanks' cock inside himself and forcing the redhead to arch, gasp in his breath, roll _his_ eyes back into his head. "Shit... _Mihawk_..."

"Keep talking," the brunette growled, tilting Yoru's blade, just barely touching the tip to Shanks' jaw.

" _Hawk-Eyes_ ," Shanks murmured, holding hips and _rocking_ his own up, ripping a growl from the brunet's lungs. He relented, settling back as the older man rocked up onto knees, not too far, and then _eased_ back down, forcing Shanks to feel the grip and friction as acutely as Mihawk felt the fill. Shanks lifted and then dropped the considerable weight of his own head, thumping it against the dirt. "You're so tight... you're all for me, aren't you?" Shanks didn't get a chance to open his eyes to look for a response, the sudden grip of Mihawk's insides making him _arch_ in pleasure and _pain_. "Shit - ! Shit, no, no, you're all your own - _ah!_ \- holy shit, you bastard..." Shanks cheekbones lit bright enough to match his hair; Yoru bore down firmly enough to split individual threads on Shanks' white shirt. "I - _hngh!_ \- I'm the lucky one... mmh... that you let me touch you like this..."

"That's better," Mihawk purred, easing Yoru back before the blade-edge could cut through the full of Shanks' shirt. He eased upward again, feeling Shanks' length slide out slowly, friction and slick, before he rocked back forward, watching the other man's eyelids flutter as his eyes rolled back in his skull. "Whelp to the Pirate King... your standing as much as your skill allows you this privilege..."

Shanks nodded without question. "Yeah... mmmnh..." His hands _tightened_ on those hips, earning a twitch, but Mihawk didn't fight the slow, intimate _grind_ of hips to ass, the pressing depth of cock to the root inside the greatest swordsman's heat. "Hahh.... you wouldn't let an uppity shit like me touch you if I didn't have both."

"Smart," Mihawk returned, ignoring the tremble in his inner thighs. "You know your place, Red-Haired _Brat_." It was his turn to _grind_ down, too-hard, to make Shanks' spine pop up from the ground and hands clench hips hard enough to bruise. A harsh rip of displeasure sounded in the back of Mihawk's throat through gritted teeth; any other man would die should he have dared leave a mark on the Greatest Swordsman's skin. But Shanks... Shanks had his _place_. His purpose, especially fought down, _toppled_. "You leave a single mark where anyone will see, and I'll slit your throat." The redhead's nod was frantic, _needy_ , fingers easing back. "Now serve your purpose as the failure in this match. Be mine. _Fuck me_ like you mean it."

Shanks's hands tightened once again (though not too much) almost before the breath had finished curling off of Mihawk's tongue. He rolled his back up and _rammed_ his hips upward, teeth grit, vision failed and blurred behind lidded eyes. Yanked Mihawk's hips down to his and lifted them away as hard as he bowed his back and pistoned his hips, fucking that perfect hole, _hilting_ himself over and over in the sheath that was the greatest swordsman - maybe greatest man - in the world. Mihawk grunted and growled above him, to keep from panting, slamming down onto that length, allowing the other man to impale him because _he_ wanted it, and for no other reason.

"Worthless blade," Mihawk gasped, voice tight, the flat of Yoru's length bearing down on Shanks' chest as Mihawk's weight pressed it so. "You think yourself worthy to fill a scabbard such as I?"

" _No_ ," Shanks panted, arching his back and _slamming_ up into that heat, that clutch, that perfect arrogant _grip_. "But I wanna fill you - _unh_ \- I wanna - ah, _fuck_ , just let me come in you, you shithead..."

Mihawk's growl was furious, fierce; Yoru drew blood at the edge of Shanks' jaw. But his hips jerked all the same; his grip _tightened_ on Shanks' shaft.

"At least ask politely if you can't bother to sound deferent."

" _Please_ , for fuck's sake, Hawk-Eyes, you feel so fucking good, come on, _come on_ , I wanna come inside you - "

"You know the rules. I come first."

Shanks whined in the back of his throat but popped his back up to angle his hips; used a firm grip to tilt Mihawk's to match. The brunet's breath finally hitched high, passage convulsing and shivering, and Shanks aimed every single thrust for that sweet, perfect spot. He knew Mihawk hated to be rushed, felt the tickle of steel at his jawline again, but he was going to fucking _burst_ and he needed, _wanted_ to bring Mihawk to his peak before his own softened him. Like the older man said - Mihawk was the victor. _He came first._

"C'mon, shit, you fucker, what's your stamina, you better feel as good as I do, you deserve it, shit, you're so tight, you're so good, you're _perfect_ -"

That last word was enough to rip a _snarl_ from Mihawk's throat, clench his insides from a continuous jerking shudder to a _hard_ grip around the other's more-than-satisfactory shaft as he came, throwing his head back and groaning through clenched teeth at the island sky. Shanks was barely a breath behind, bruising hips with his fingers and slamming up hard, _coming_ like a tidal wave and filling that snug, delicious passage with wave after wave of robust, voluminous cum. Mihawk's splattered the full length of the other's tan, bare torso, leaving drips and spurts across stomach, chest... god, all the way to the other man's collar bone. By the time Mihawk finished, he was _panting_ , barely holding himself up, half his weight on Yoru's hilt (and god, his sword was splattered with cum just the same as the brat's body), and Shanks's cock was still throbbing inside, filling him deep, leaving him to shudder and groan in the inadequate's lap. This, too, was part of why Mihawk indulged the whelp - let _himself_ indulge in (on) the whelp. His virility, unlike his attitude, was nothing to scoff at, and few men had ever been able to _fill him_ like this, to warm him from the inside out. No one else had ever been able to make him _tremble_ with pure overload. And tremble he did, as always, thighs quivering, cum pooling slick where they met as his body relaxed and convulsed on the younger man's still-hard cock over and over again.

By the time Shanks finished, Mihawk barely knew how he was still conscious. The other might have been the failure between them at swordplay, but his vigor owed to more than a few scant years of simple youth. Mihawk was outmatched there, and by a fair margin.

He wanted to fight, to complain, to bear his sword down in the other's skin when Shanks all but brushed Yoru aside and yanked him down onto that tan (filthy) chest, holding him tight, forcing him to let himself _collapse_ onto the younger man's body. "Idiot," he muttered. ...More as a matter of course than with any real bite.

"Uh-huh," Shanks murmured, nosing into Mihawk's neck, lapping at the corner of that chiseled jaw, of that sharply-angled sideburn, and bringing up a shallow but wracking shiver as his reward. "But I'm your idiot."

"Must you put it like that?"

"Pff. Shut up, fancypants."

**Author's Note:**

> The second thing I learned writing this fic is to channel a little Han Solo to get a good Shanks. Tell me I'm wrong.
> 
> Want to support what I do? Find me on other sites through my [carrd](https://kabochakitsune.carrd.co/)!


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